


I Can't Promise You A Brand New Day

by hexthejinx



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Angst, Drug Addiction, Drugs, M/M, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-24
Updated: 2012-05-24
Packaged: 2017-11-05 23:08:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/412042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hexthejinx/pseuds/hexthejinx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Ray followed Bob to the station, he didn't expect to see anything like that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Can't Promise You A Brand New Day

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is purely a work of fiction. Never happened in real life. Any resemblance to the real events is coincidental.

The railway station is almost empty at this time, as it usually is at late Wednesday evening. Few travelers are flashing by on their way between ticket offices and platforms, keeping their baggage close to their bodies in fear of being robbed. Ray can’t really blame them, even if he thinks they are a bit hysterical. The place looks pretty bad and has not the best reputation. Since it’s not the main city station, local authorities have never given it much thought. It has quickly become a shelter for all kinds of strays, addicts and other people Ray would rather not like to think about. He really doesn’t want to be here, too. But he is curious. Curious, and also worried, both of these feelings are related to his best friend.

He was quite surprised when he ran into Bob earlier this evening. Not that Bob is unknown to wander around the city at the oddest times, in the middle of the night being his favorite. Even if Ray finds such activities a tad strange, he doesn’t comment on that. His friend is a fine guy, strong and fierce, and he can look after himself perfectly. Most people will think twice before they try anything with Bob. Those who won’t, will never make the same mistake again. So Bob’s habit of taking night walks, often around infamous parts of the town, isn’t what worries Ray.

What struck him when they have met half an hour ago is the distress Bob showed as he spotted Ray. Like he was about to do something his best friend wouldn’t approve of and wanted to hide it from him. Ray couldn’t think about anything like that. While Bob tends to get in fights a lot, he generally stays out of trouble and isn’t the one who provokes rows. So watching the blonde guy squirm uncomfortably when asked about what he was up to and trying to get his way around the question, made Ray really concerned. He didn’t let himself be brushed off easily and eventually instead of explaining anything, Bob said Ray can follow him, if he wants to.

This is why they ended up at the station, and Ray still can’t see the purpose of being here in the first place. He’d rather not be here at all, especially at this hour. As they walk, Ray following Bob closely, they pass a group of teenagers, both girls and boys. They are loud and obnoxious, and Ray briefly wonders, if their parents have even the slightest clue where their children are, or maybe they don’t even care. One of the girls meets his gaze, holding it sternly, looking like she was challenging him to say or do something. Ray quickly looks away. Several meters further some middle aged guy sways into him. He smells strongly of half-digested alcohol and urine. When Ray tries to push him away, he grabs his arm and slurs, breathing vodka in Ray’s face.

“Hey boss, throw in for a drink, huh?”

Clearly disgusted, Ray shakes his arm free and runs after Bob. The guy shouts a stream of curses at him, half coherent with his drunken speech. They walk down the dirty steps and walk into the underground part of station. There’s nothing much here, the few remaining shops and snack-bars closed at this time, metal bars and heavy padlocks guarding their doors and windows. If anything, it’s even dirtier and darker here, flickering lamps covering the corridors in a dim light. Ray levels his steps with Bob’s and asks:

“Why are we here? We better go off, it’s not safe here...” He casts a cautious glance behind his back, almost expecting a bunch of crew-cut guys with baseball bats standing there.

Bob doesn’t answer. He keeps walking, scanning the ground and niches carefully like he is looking for someone or something, brown paper bag swinging in his hand. Ray hopes he has there something what can be used as a weapon. Suddenly Bob speeds up. Ray stares disbelievingly, as he drops on his knees in front of dark lonely figure, sprawled on the tiles in a weirdly twisted position.

It is a guy, thin and dirty like everything else here. Ray steps closer and has to hold his breath, because the guy _reeks_. He can’t even distinguish the smell; it seems to be a mix of several smells, each of them alone unpleasant to a human nose, together making something unbearable. After a few seconds he lets the breath out and opts for breathing through his mouth. Bob obviously doesn’t mind, or maybe he became immune to it, because he squats down and gently lifts the guy to a sitting position, propping his body against the wall. The clothes the guy has on are really worn out, covered in plenty of holes and tears. There is a yellowish stain in front of his shirt, looking suspiciously like vomit. Ray tries to swallow the ball that has risen in his throat. The guy’s face is obscured by his hair, hanging loosely in greasy strands, but when Bob pushes them away, Ray can see a pale face with soft, almost feminine features.

“Gerard?” Bob shakes the guy softly. He remains unconscious, or at least this is how he looks like. If not for Bob’s hand, keeping a steady pressure against his shoulder and holding him against the brick wall, he would collapse again. “Gerard? Hey, wake up.” Bob tries again and this time it works. The man lifts his eyelids and stares at Bob unblinkingly. Or, if Ray wanted to be precise, through Bob, as if the blonde was transparent and the guy could see the wall behind him.

“Hey,” Bob continues, obviously unfazed by the lack of answer. “I’ve brought you food. Here, hold it.” He pushes the paper bag in the guy’s hand, but he earns no reaction. Gerard’s eyes are hazed while his pupils are unnaturally huge. Ray has seen enough in his life to know what it means. The guy is high as fuck.

Suddenly something shifts in Gerard’s eyes as they light up and he focuses his gaze on the man crouching in front of him. “Boooooob,” he slurs, dragging the vowel. His face breaks into a goofy grin, showing small, pointy teeth. To Ray’s astonishment, Bob mirrors the guy, albeit his smile is indicated only by the corners of his mouth twitching up. Seeing he is holding Gerard’s attention this time, he hands him the bag again. 

“Here. You have two sandwiches there, and a bottle of water.”

Gerard giggles, as if he finds the statement very amusing, then grabs the bag and holds it tightly, his eyes never leaving Bob’s face. He wrinkles his nose in the way Ray would find funny or even adorable, if the circumstances were different.

“Did you bring any stuff? Bob. Boooob.” He giggles again, the sound of it somehow sounding very wrong.

“No, Gerard.” Bob’s voice is calm and measured, like he was talking to a little kid. “I don’t bring you any drugs, you know it well enough.”

The guy lets out an offended huff and moves his gaze to the floor. “I hate you. I so, so hate you.”

Bob is full of surprises today. Ray doesn’t expect it again, when the blonde actually lets out a short laugh at this. “Sure you do.” Gerard lifts his head and leans heavily against the wall, his face unreadable. He keeps looking at Bob’s shoulder, but his eyes are cloudy again. After several seconds he closes his eyes and slides slowly onto the tiles. His lips are moving as he’s muttering something, too quiet it to understand it. Ray knows he’s gone again.

His friend sighs heavily, the smile vanishing from his face immediately. He brushes his palm over Gerard’s disheveled hair, then takes a look around. When he doesn’t spot anyone but Ray, he fishes out a ten dollar bill from his pocket and tucks it inside Gerard’s jacket. Then he stands up like nothing particular happened, and walks away, with a bewildered Ray at his heels.

Ray is not able to say anything for a while. He just follows Bob back to the exit, staring at the back of his friend’s head. It’s not before they are out of the station building, cool wind blowing in their faces, that Ray finally speaks.

“What the hell was that?”

Bob stops, turns around and just shrugs, his hands showed deep in his hoodie pockets.

There’s too many thoughts swirling inside Ray’s head, too many questions he wants to ask, none of them seeming right. He takes a deep breath, trying to clear his mind. “Why... Fuck, how do you even know him?”

The blonde bites his lower lip and makes a gesture with his shoulder, motioning Ray to move. When they resume walking, he asks: “Remember that time three months ago, when I was doing gigs out of town for two weeks?”

Ray nods; it’s kind of hard to forget. Bob’s car broke down and he had to commute. That meant a never-ending stream of complains about the state of local railway transport, dumb co-passengers, mean ticket controllers and the fact Bob had to wake up an hour and half earlier than usual to make it on time. And Ray, as his best friend, was the one to listen to all of it and put up with his lousy mood. Grumpy Bob is sometimes hard to endure, but extra-grumpy Bob is almost unbearable.

“Well, I used to get off at this station, because it’s closer to my apartment than the other. One night he accosted me.”

“This... Gerard?”

Bob gives him a death glare. “Of course, who else are we talking about?” When Ray doesn’t answer, obviously taking the question as rhetorical, Bob continues.

“He offered me his... services.” Ray’s eyebrows shoot up, so he adds quickly. “I didn’t accept. Just told him I wasn’t interested and walked away. I saw him again two days later, lounging against the wall. He looked up at me but didn’t move from his spot. I had a burger I bought a while before, but I had only bit it once, it was tasting like cardboard. So... I don’t know, I would throw it out anyway, so I just gave it to him, didn’t even look at his face. The next day, it was similar. Had some food, wasn’t really hungry, gave it to him. Let him bum a smoke once or twice. It became kinda a habit. We start talking then.”

Ray isn’t even trying to hide his astonishment. “Talking.”

Bob makes an affirmative sound. “Or it was more like exchanging a few sentences now and then. I learned his name, he got to know mine. I told him I make shitty bands sound bearable, he told me he’s addicted to pills. Stuff like that. We’re not exactly telling each other our life stories.”

Ray really wants to know how it happens that Bob refers to drug addiction as merely ‘stuff like that’. “You make it sound so smooth, like you were doing groceries for the old man the next door.”

Bob stuffs his hands deeper in his pockets; it’s getting really chilly. “It’s not. One time he attacked me, said some nasty things, threw the food back at me, told me he didn’t need my pity. Now I think he was craving for his pills, and that’s why he was acting that way, but I didn’t realize it at that time. I called him a fucking ungrateful bastard and stopped coming, it was after that job anyway. I lasted a week. It kept bugging me. I was wondering how he was coping with everything.” Bob catches the glance Ray is sending his way and nods. “Yeah, I know it’s ridiculous. He managed just fine before I showed up. But still, I couldn’t stop thinking those thoughts and eventually I started coming again.” When he realizes Ray still looks at him expectantly, as if there is more to tell, he says. “And that’s it, end of the story.”

Ray tries to process what he’s just heard, to put everything in order in his mind and maybe even make a sense of it. But it’s not easy. He feels overwhelmed and out of balance. It’s not like Bob; Ray doesn’t remember his friend trying to play the good Samaritan, ever. So he clings to the first thought which comes to his mind and asks: “Why did you give him money? You know he will spend it on drugs.”

Bob’s busy patting his pants and hoodie in search for cigarettes. Finally he finds a pack and a lighter, pulls both of them out and lights one smoke up, inhaling deeply. “I know. But it’s one asshole less he would have to blow.”

They both fall silent after that, the only audible sound being their footsteps, echoing against the brick walls and concrete, as they approaching Bob’s apartment. Eventually they stop at the door of the building where the blonde lives. Bob opens his mouth to bid the farewell, but Ray chimes in with the last question.

“Listen, dude. I know it isn’t my job to judge you or to question your motives. It’s your life and your choice. But, why do you keep doing it?”

Bob takes one last drag from his cigarette, tosses it on the ground and crushes the butt with his shoe, shrugging. “Can’t just let him starve to death, can I?” He hugs Ray and opens the door, disappearing inside the building.

But it’s not only that. If Bob wanted to, he could tell Ray about Gerard’s smile, the real one which is almost total opposite to his drugged grin. The one with the crooked corner of his mouth, barely showing his small teeth. He could tell about that one time, when he happened to have a newspaper with him, when Gerard wasn’t high and they tried to do a crossword together. They failed, missing 12 down and 5 across, but that didn’t matter. He could tell about the way Gerard’s eyes light up the second he spots Bob walking down the corridor.

Only he won’t.


End file.
